


Assemble

by darklittlestories



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: And Finds A Favorite, Because How Not?, Loki Assembles a Team, M/M, One Shot, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Sensory Deprivation, Voice Kink, WinterFrost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 07:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9983174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklittlestories/pseuds/darklittlestories
Summary: Happy Birthday, lovely StMonkeys! Have a little taste of WinterFrost this  fine February day:)xx





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stmonkeys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stmonkeys/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, lovely StMonkeys! Have a little taste of WinterFrost this fine February day:)  
> xx

Loki wakes suddenly in the dark of the king’s chamber, his heart thrumming too fast. A fine sheen of sweat chills his skin, and his guts feel as if a heavy, icy fist is squeezing them.

He’s seen the Mad Titan in a dream and knows Thanos’ plan with terrible certainty.

He has much to do. So he dresses hurriedly in the dark and stalks silently to Hlidskjalf, where he can observe and plot. A broad plan begins to take shape.

He travels his old, secret pathways, and he visits an assortment of old allies, new enemies, and a handful of strange new players.

* * *

Sometimes the Winter Soldier dreams.

Other times the dreams belong to a young man called Bucky.

In the latter, his face hurts from smiling, and his feet and hips move in merry circles. He shoots a wink at Stevie over the doll’s shoulder. Stevie looks shy but fond, holding his small frame as if to shrink it down to nothing.

In the former, everything is ice, bruises, and blood. His shoulder burns with severed nerves and the cold of metal.

The dreams whoosh and swirl and blur, but they are a constant. His body is still and dormant. And then it isn’t.

He doesn’t wake, but he feels the air change. He’s loose and limp and being carried as if he weighs nothing. His skin heats and his eyelids filter the sun into red. Then for a long while there is nothing.

It’s a relief.

* * *

When he wakes, it’s slow and foggy, like he’s been drugged. He can’t see, but there’s no blindfold over his eyes and he can’t move, but feels no restraints. He tries to call out, but he can’t even move his throat or tongue.

He can hear, and it’s his only working sense. The air seems to be the same temperature as his skin; he can’t feel it.

Moments after he’s conscious, he hears footfalls. Click of bootheels, no echo. He’s too sedate to register any concern at the voice that greets him.

It’s pleasant, deliberately sensual. Male, accented—sounds most like British to his ears. Crisp, clipped vowels. Educated, upper class.

The voice purrs into his ear, “Barnes. Another soldier lost to time. I believe I shall soon have a collection of you.”

The voice washes over him, it’s velvety and comforting. It shouldn’t be.

He doesn’t care.

 

“I need to make use of you. Your friends, the heroes. And you, Barnes. The warrior called ‘Winter’. Do we know yet, shall you be redeemed?”

His breath warms Barnes’ face. A hand as soft as the voice strokes his jaw and throat. The man inhales and Bucky knows he’s taking in the scent of him. It’s erotic as hell.

“Oh, but I like this very much. You, I may keep to myself a while longer.”

He plays his hands over Bucky’s face, stroking idly.

  
“But first, I have to take you apart. This,” and the hand fingers the join where flesh meets metal, “Is of terribly crude craft. But here,” the fingers move to his temples. “Here is where we must begin.”

The man moves so close his lips brush Bucky’s ear when he speaks.

“Longing?”

Bucky whines, and wants to answer “Yes,” but he’s still locked in place.

But the next word sends a sharp blade of fear through him and his heart runs wild.

“Rusted.”

The voice laughs, the fingers rest lightly on his racing pulse.

  
“Seventeen…”

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhh... sharing the WinterFrost feels after making much ado about Loki and plums. I wanted to dash out something for StMonkeys and realized that it was an absolute necessity that we hear Loki's sin-sex-sensual-voice read the trigger commands. I'm sorry it's not a longer piece, love, but I hope you enjoy.


End file.
